


Fire Mountain

by HeartlessAngel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessAngel/pseuds/HeartlessAngel
Summary: Noctis has two tickets to Gladio’s favorite opera and a heart full of emotions.





	Fire Mountain

* * *

 

Making public appearances were such traumatic hassles, Noctis had only allowed it to occur twice. People desperately waved cameras in his face, held pictures out for him to sign and asked questions not even those closest to him would dare ask. Even with this clear in his mind, he glanced at the red, frilly envelope with the name of the sender in golden cursive letters, _The Royal Opera House._

Every four years there was pandemonium amongst the fanatics of opera and literature when The Royal Opera House released tickets for their production of Fire Mountain. It was a whole week devoted to the literary masterpiece written by Alexandria, a high priestess in Solheim. The story was told in three and a half hours long showings every evening during this golden week. Tickets sold out almost upon release, and Noctis, Crown Prince of Insomnia, had been gifted two.

Noctis took the envelope from where he had pinned it on the mirror in the hallway and hid it in the top drawer of the table underneath it. Gladio was going to be here any second. Noctis hadn’t even decided yet if he was going to mention it.

Fire Mountain was Gladio’s favorite book of all times. Noctis still remembered the day after Gladio finished it the first time. Gladio’s eyes had been red and puffy, his nose stuffed, his gait sluggish, voice thick when he walked into the exercise room; Noctis had only seen that once before, at the funeral of Gladio’s mother. Immediately, he thought something had happened to Iris. Noctis had gripped the first wooden sword he could carry, his protection gear still hanging loose from one side, prepared to neutralize whatever and whomever had brought this upon themselves.

Once Gladio understood where Noctis was going, he had tossed Noctis over his shoulder to take him back into the exercise room. Not without a fight, however. Noctis kicked and clawed to be put back down. It wasn’t until Gladio blew his whistle that Noctis sat down with a thump, arms crossed.

“Two things,” Gladio began seriously and sniffled. “We only use violence when, and only when we have confirmed our suspicions, have hard evidence in hand and when the circumstances warrants it. De-escalation, if you remember nothing else, remember that. We’re the top of the chain, Noct, we lead by example.”

Gladio paused when his voice cracked toward the end with a leftover sob caught in his throat. Noctis uncrossed his arms at the sight, feeling his chin quiver and tears stinging the side of his eyes. At eleven years of age, he had yet to learn not to empathize beyond what was considered normal.

“Second thing,” Gladio continued and sighed. “I finished a book that ruined me, so you’re gonna have to live with me being like this for a while.”

Noctis got onto his feet and wrapped his arms around Gladio, deciding there and then that he had to get his hands on this book. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, that was the saying, and this book had just made the mark on his list of enemies.

Fire Mountain became the starting point of book club meetings that followed training. Ignis would join them on occasion and always seemed surprised by the passionate discussions and stances Noctis and Gladio took for both characters and plot events.

The doorbell rang and Noctis jolted.

“Hey, what’s up?” said Gladio as soon as Noctis opened the door. “I brought some chicken soup, courtesy of Jared. You gotta bring that salt intake of yours down a couple of notches so no take-out.” Gladio followed Noctis into the living room. “Might be a little cold though, the elevator was out so I had to climb twenty stories, which is forty flights of stairs. Do all apartments in this building have high ceilings?”

Would it be too cruel to burn the tickets right in front of him? Noctis wondered for a split second.

“Ah, before I forget!” Gladio pulled the zipper down on his civilian jacket and pulled out a plastic sleeve held together with a ribbon. “Went by Billy’s to get your orders. Looks like you haven’t been there since last month. You’re gonna love the eleventh issue of Mayhem.”

Noctis took the thick sleeve full of his comic books and watched Gladio walk to the kitchen to reheat the chicken soup.

His feelings had been all over the place lately, if two years could be considered ‘lately’. Colors seemed brighter when Gladio was beside him, he felt like giggling around him, but at the same time that would upset him because who giggles in this day and age? Gladio was short of leaving flowers blooming with every step he took, and honestly, it would’ve made everything so much easier if he actually did have that ability because at least then Noctis would have an excuse to stare, eyes wide, hands clasped at his chest as if trying to keep his heart from leaping.

“How’s the cold coming along?” Gladio asked. “No fever or anything?”

Noctis shook his head and held his comic books closer.

“Y’know what helps? Beer. You wrap yourself up in blankets, turn up the heat just a little, and down a couple of beers. You’ll sweat that cold right out.”

Noctis laughed.

“Is any occasion unfit for beer?”

“Banquets,” Gladio said with a shrug and smiled.

Had his life been a comic book, there’d be small pink and red hearts floating around him, leaving no doubt about the sorts of feelings he was harboring. Noctis was his own greatest hurdle to overcome. Instead of embracing the little hearts, he tried to pop them to make them disappear.

“Gladio?”

“Mm?” Gladio stirred the pot before he went for his fourth ‘tasting’ of the soup.

“Go with me to see Fire Mountain.”

It was meant to be a question, but sounded like a weak order turned optional request halfway through. Noctis made a face at himself, obscured partially by his hand.

Gladio didn’t notice. He choked on the soup in his mouth and coughed into his elbow as he turned away from the pot. Noctis hurried to the pot when Gladio pointed at it and took it off the stove.

“What?” Gladio managed to croak once the coughing stopped. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands and tried to clear his throat.

“The director sent them. Two of them. And, I thought that maybe you wanted to come with, since you like it and everything…”

“Like?” Gladio laughed. He placed his hands at the sides of his head. “I-I’d love to, of course, I’d love to, Noct! Are you kidding? Shit, I think I’m gonna cry.”

Gladio took deep breaths and paced between the kitchen and living room.

“Pick me up at six on Saturday? They know it’s us, so it’s formal wear,” Noctis said.

At this, Gladio turned around and half-jogged back to Noctis to pull him in for a hug. Gladio lifted him off the ground, wiggling him side to side with glee.

“Don’t forget to bring tissues,” Gladio said. “We’re gonna weep rivers.”

Squished in Gladio’s embrace, Noctis wondered how much it would cost to set up a production like Fire Mountain and if he could afford it, if only to be held like this again.

 

The theater was packed. People of all ages filled the seats, wearing their best. The director, Mirabel Pascal, had prepared another entrance for Noctis and his guest to avoid the spectacle at the main entrance. They had, apparently, spoken at the Summer Solstice banquet last year that had been held at the estate up north. Noctis had no memory of it, and Gladio told him why. He had been drunk on liquor bonbons. Fortunately, Mirabel Pascal remembered their conversation in which Noctis had managed to mention Gladio’s love for books and his own dislike of official public appearances.

Upon taking their seats, they had turned some heads and sent others whispering, but Noctis could take that much. It was what his classmates did whenever he walked them by.

Gladio was wearing his ceremonial uniform, complete with golden epaulettes, pins on his collar, white gloves and silvery embroideries on the large cuffs that matched Noctis’. The white pants were made to measure unlike those issued for combat that were about as loose as Gladio’s sweatpants. Noctis had been able to focus on little else since Gladio came to pick him up.

As the orchestra tuned their instruments, the audience fell silent and the lights were dimmed.

The story began with a parched and escaped prisoner, telling the audience about the injustices of the world following the Astral War and how nothing was as it seemed now that the people of Solheim had lost their guiding light to the whims of capricious gods. Gladio knew the prologue by heart. He was taken by the scenery onstage, the pain with which the prisoner sang the recitative, knowing that this was but the beginning.

A goddess who fell in love with the humanity of a lowly Count, a god, abandoned, enamoured and jealous followed her, determined to bring her back to the Heavens, unknowingly sealing her fate. The duet of the goddess and the Count had Gladio leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide with wonder at the purity of their love, but rubbed his hands with apprehension for what was to come.

The jealous god revealed the sins of the goddess to the pantheon, thinking the others would help her see reason, but instead she was ripped from the arms of the helpless Count and tossed and chained in the depths of Hell where no one could reach her.

“ _Svanì per sempre il sogno mio d'amore. L'ora è fuggita, e muoio disperato!_ ” sang both Count and jealous god in utter despair.

Noctis took Gladio’s hand in his at the sight of the tears rolling down his cheeks, heart aching at the quivering of Gladio’s lower lip as if he was holding back, but barely managing. And the worst was yet to come.

The jealous god went after the goddess, unable to live in a world where his beloved did not exist. He tore through the walls of Hell, jumped every hurdle, fought every demon in his path, but nothing weighed heavier than the knowledge that he had put her there, at the brink of death. She drew her last breaths as he freed her, collapsed into his arms, a soft smile on her face.

_And he sought for words that did not yet exist, for how does one describe the solitude of having the stars within reach and not feel their warmth_ , Alexandria had written about the love the jealous god held for the goddess.

No one was left unmoved by the last aria of sheer anguish. A god pleading with Heaven like a mortal, cradling the person most important to him; was there a more tragic sight than the helplessness of a god facing death?

Noctis had to bite down on his lower lip to not cry, but then he turned to Gladio and saw his shoulders shaking, his face hidden behind his hand. Noctis reverted to his eleven year old self then, chin quivering, vulnerable in the face of such raw emotion.

The audience rose to their feet when the curtains fell. Past sobs and tears, they applauded, yelling words of praise. The lights came back on slowly. They knew people had been crying in the dark, minding the lights was the least they could do as people stumbled out of the theater, sniveling into handkerchiefs. Noctis and Gladio were no exceptions.

They were led back, away from the main entrance to the provisional entrance. Mirabel Pascal was out at the cafeteria to mingle with those who had purchased a meet-and-greet ticket, so the Crown Prince and the Shield were shown out by a an excited intern who had clearly been told to not bother them.

“That was something, huh?” Noctis said and hiccuped. “People paid good money for that.”

“It’s therapeutic,” Gladio said with a half-hearted smile.

They rounded the building to go to the subterranean parking lot where they had parked Noctis’ car. The evening was chilly, leaves that had long since shifted brown and yellow laid spread on the streets and had blown into the parking lot the same way the doves got in.

“They’ve better not crapped on my car,” Noctis mumbled at the sight of a cocky dove waddling past.

“Noct,” Gladio called for him quietly, like he hadn’t intended to.

He grabbed Noctis by his arm and made him turn around.

“Listen,” Gladio began, voice breaking and he chuckled. “So this is gonna sound weird, but uh, whatever you do, don’t you dare die before me - alright? Because I think that, uh, that I’ll lose it for sure, if you do, so…”

Gladio passed his hand over his eye quickly, and stood straight, finding strength in a posture so tightly entwined with his training.

“Of like too much salt intake?” Noctis joked, throat tight by Gladio’s sudden admission.

“Ass,” Gladio laughed.

They stood in silence, eyes glued to the concrete floor. Two men in ceremonial uniforms in the middle of a parking lot, sniveling still, one with hiccups.

“You’re everything, Noct. Just thought you should know.”

Gladio smiled sheepishly.

Had his life been a comic book, Noctis would’ve had the courage to wrap his arms around Gladio and bring him in for a kiss. But a quick peck on Gladio’s cheek would have to do for now unless he wanted his face to burst into flames.

“Hurry! The doves are gonna airstrike my car if we stay much longer,” Noctis said loudly and just about ran to the car to not have to see Gladio’s reaction.


End file.
